No Handbook
There is no handbook on how to embark on this kind of life. Believe me, I asked. When contacted for my husband’s sentencing report, I asked if resources were available to prepare myself and my children. The parole officer, though incredibly nice, had nothing to offer.
In 2019, the State of Michigan had 38,053 incarcerated people in its care. Surely the Michigan Correctional system should have it together by now. A handbook, a phone line, something to help families move through the hellscape the court systems are creating.
The one and only book on the topic I wanted to throw out the window as soon as I read it. The author recommends divorcing your husband before the ink is dry on the court paperwork. What good are vows if you’re going to run away as soon as things fall apart? The book was unhelpful at best and I wish I could get a refund. Life is never, ever that cut and dry. So with no resources, it is a scary, learn-as-you-go roller coaster, and I’m not sure when it stops.
The Ghost of Him Remains
Even though I get to talk to him several times a day, it’s not the same. There is very rarely anything new to share during these calls. I try to write down funny things the kids do, or share updates when I have them. I now gauge the time of day by phone call.
There is an unspoken brokenness between us. That’s the thing about something being broken: you don’t need to see it happen to feel it. Like stepping on a piece of glass, or cutting yourself with a very sharp knife. Between us, there is a severance, moving through nerves and tissue, creating a disconnect that cannot be immediately remedied.
I am very much grieving the loss of my husband. Even though he is not dead, he feels lost to me. He is not sleeping in my bed, leaving dirty socks on the floor, or giving me hugs when I really need them.
I question how much of what I once believed to be true in every aspect of my life, including the way the world works at large, was ever actually true.
Of course this is what counseling is for, one might say. Yet this is a deep wound, something that so grossly and negatively impacted our family, that there are days I’m not sure I will ever forgive all involved and move on.
Many times I just want the world to pause and let me catch my breath. But life unfairly keeps moving forward with appointments, school work, and my career. There are meals to be made, laundry to be washed, and bills to be paid, no matter how much I beg and plead for everything to stop.
What I Called It
Just after his incarceration, I was still trying to run a side hustle on a reselling site for extra income. When I ran a little behind on an order due to his sudden incarceration, I had to think of a way to explain what had happened. Calling it a family emergency did not cut it. This is more like someone tearing out a vital organ. It’s the death of something beautiful, something sacred.
In that moment, I called it as I felt it: I had just lost my husband. Just like an actual death, he is not here, though the ghost of him remains. He will miss birthdays, holidays, and other milestone moments. I can’t even send him pictures.
I realized in that moment that I’m mourning my husband, my blemish-free marriage, and the life I had before. The outpouring of understanding and kindness from the person on the other side of that interaction was so comforting. I couldn’t help but wonder what the person would have said if I hadn’t been so cryptic.
The Most Important Thing
Out of this entire experience of being an inmate’s wife, this is the biggest and most important thing I will stress to others: the importance of empathy. We must choose kindness over disdain. We need to be there for people experiencing this grief, rather than passing judgment or looking away because it feels uncomfortable.
Just like when someone passes away, we need to show up. Bring casseroles. Hold people when they need to cry. Help them find their way through their new reality. Never assume that these families are less-than or drains on society.
If we can do these simple things, we as a society can change the narrative on incarceration.
Safe and Just Michigan — Michigan Department of Corrections by the Numbers (2019) — safeandjustmi.org →
